"Mem understands," Gyske said. She turned. "Mem's pain is all done now. But Sjurd can stay alive, I would like that better."

"Mem prefers Douwe dead?"

"Mem understands, that means she can accept. Do you have a cigarette?"

"Only small cigars."

Gyske took the cigar. The commissaris flicked a light. Gyske inhaled hungrily. "Mem even accepted the dead kittens. She used to have a limping cat that showed up one night. Douwe didn't want her to feed the cat, but Mem did it anyway, behind the barn. When Douwe was away, Mem would talk to the cat. The cat had kittens, funny babies, that frolicked and gamboled all over the yard, but then they all began to die one afternoon. They didn't know they were dying, they still tried to play. Douwe had poisoned their milk, of course. He had to laugh, because Mem didn't know what was wrong with the kittens. Mem was going crazy."

"There's a turtle," the commissaris said, "that lives in my rear garden. He's my good friend, I like to share his silence. If someone hurt my turtle, I would probably be quite upset."

"I wanted revenge," Gyske said, "because Sjurd believes in good, and that's too boring. He would say that I should put my bottom in a bucket of cold water, that would soothe the urge, so I made a grab for Anne. That bald little Anne, with his few hairs plastered over his skull, and his wrinkled neck, and his spectacles without rims, only because he happened to be around, with his three-piece suit and with his watch chain across his stupid belly and with his arrogant accent. I took revenge. I committed a sin. Mem doesn't sin."

"I see," the commissaris said. "I wish you strength. Your husband seems rather an excellent fellow."

"I'm madly in love with Sjurd," Gyske said, "but I can't go on like this. It'll have to change. There's your car backing up, I'll help you lifting in the crates."

"Enough of this," the commissaris said in the Volkswagen. 'Take me to Municipal Police headquarters in Leeuwarden, Adjutant. Select the shortest route. We've wasted time."